


What A Wonderful Mess We've Made

by orphan_account



Category: Fallout 3
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Denial of Feelings, F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-20 02:36:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7387189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Noelle and James left the vault, everything changed; the residents split into two groups, tension between the two escalating quickly. Butch leaves his home in hopes of finding a better above ground.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Whole New World

Butch glances over his shoulder, hoping to ease the paranoia coursing through his veins. Anxiety grips his lungs, making breathing difficult. If he got caught, he would be completely fucked. The Overseer loved to make examples of those who tried to escape the vault and Butch was not an exception. Alphonse despised Butch and any excuse to pull the trigger would not be wasted.

The cave walls are cold against his bare hands and the ground beneath him feels foreign. Behind him, he can see the vault door seal up. No one had followed him.

A strange, far-off glow freezes him mid-step; it never wavers, only intensifies with each step Butch takes. Was the Overseer paranoid enough to station a guard down here? Butch's hand reaches for his beloved switchblade, more out of comfort than safety, but he has to protect himself if a guard is waiting for him.

He approaches the light cautiously and laughs when he realizes it wasn’t a guard but the glow from the sun peeking through the wooden door. His hand lingers at the door, hesitating. Once he stepped into the real world, there would be no turning back. Familiarity, comfort, friends: All things he would be leaving behind. He thinks of his mother, Ellen, and how he never said goodbye. Not that it would have mattered; the two of them hadn’t spoken to each other since the Radroach incident. He was a 'rebel' and she wanted the vault to stay closed. He wonders how Freddie will handle his disappearance. He was, after all, the only other official Tunnel Snake. Wally Mack ditched the gang after Noelle and James’ escape because he wasn't a "dirty rebel." Paul would have survived his Radroach bites if the only doctor hadn't fled the vault.

“See ya never, suckers,” Butch whispers with a smirk as he gently pushes the door open. Rays from the sun burn his poorly adjusted eyes before he has an opportunity to shield them. He screws them shut, shading them with his left arm until he can squint without destroying his pupils. When his eyes open, he swears he’s hallucinating. The landscape is so barren, like someone took a giant eraser and wiped away all the color from the world. Trees that should be lavish with jade-colored leaves are naked and shoot up out of the ground like mangled hands that reach out and grab unsuspecting travelers.

It bothers him to see the world in shambles, but he has no time to reminisce; his main concern is finding somewhere to sleep before the sun dips below the horizon. His eyes flicker over the land in front of him, settling on dilapidated buildings a hundred meters northwest. No other direction looks promising. Each home he passes is uninhabited; too much of the exterior is missing, resulting in severe exposure for those brave enough to hunker down for the night. He considers himself lucky when he discovers a house that appears relatively safe. Until he enters.

“Who the hell are you?” a raspy-voiced woman demands as she reaches for her pistol. She’s shorter than Butch, but the menacing scowl on her face tells him she would gladly pull the trigger if he so much as moved wrong. “You’d better not be one of Moriarty’s men.”

“Woah, woah, woah, I don’t want no trouble, lady,” Butch raises his hands in surrender. “I was just lookin’ for a place to sleep.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” she snaps, aiming the gun at his head. He can see down the barrel.

“Who the hell is Moriarty?”

“Colin Moriarty. He runs that hellhole of a saloon in Megaton. Lowlife bastard.”

“Megaton?” he echoes.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” His bright blue vault suit with would have made it obvious if the woman had noticed right away. She lowers her weapon, but doesn’t apologize for almost firing it. He’s grateful the gun is longer pointed at him.

There’s a pause as the woman tries to remember what the two of them were talking about then, “Megaton’s the closest settlement. You can see it from from him. Kinda hard to miss the signs, too.”

Sensing he is no longer wanted company, Butch exits and begins his trek to Megaton. It takes him less than ten minutes to reach the gates. A single Protectron guards the entrance dutifully, clunky and slow, nowhere near as efficient as Vault 101’s Mr. Handy.

“Welcome to Megaton,” the robot greets mechanically. “The bomb is perfectly safe. We promise.”

“Bomb?” Butch repeats incredulously. The robot, not programmed to answer questions, repeats the same welcoming lines. A guard up top signals to someone inside the city and the gates protecting Megaton retract. Butch crosses his arms over his chest as he waits for the metal doors to allow him access to Megaton. Another set of security doors prolong his entry, but they aren’t machine-operated.

He doesn’t know what to expect, but it certainly isn't this. Rusted structures serve as shops, bars, and homes, all connected by skeletons of old buses or walkways situated on building tops. He couldn’t imagine having people walking over his house while he sleeps.

“I’ll be damned. Another newcomer,” says a man who dresses as though he was the star of an old western flick. Butch struggles to control his laughter. _Where's your deputy, pardner?_ “And you’re from Vault 101, too.” The cowboy chuckles softly at that, but Butch doesn’t find it amusing.

“I’m Lucas Simms. Mayor of this town. Sheriff as well. Welcome to Megaton.” His smile is friendly, his eyes are cold. The face of a man who carries a heavy weight on his shoulders.

“That robot out there said somethin’ about a bomb. Was he pulling my leg?”

“Well, we did have a bomb sittin’ in the middle of the town, but it’s completely harmless now. If you need anything else, just holler,” he adds when Butch shows disinterest in the conversation. Simms walks off, probably to go ride his horse into the setting sun.

Noelle was here, he has no doubt in his mind. She has the know-how to disarm the bomb and the kind heart to help complete strangers. A real ‘goody two-shoes’ as he had dubbed her on her tenth birthday party. No one else in the vault would have shared their only sweetroll with him on their special day. Noelle would give him her last ration coupon even if it meant she starved; she was never rude to him, despite his uncanny ability to be an asshole. She had only ever struck him once, after he insulted her best friend, Amata.

He shakes his head to clear the nostalgia and wanders around the town aimlessly, choosing to check out Craterside Supply. A woman with unnaturally red hair tied up in a messy ponytail stands at the counter, head inside of a book titled “The Dangers of Self-Aware Robots”. She mutters under her breath then slams the book shut, startling herself in the process. Opposite of the woman is a heavily armed man, who's leaning against the wall, paying close attention to Butch and coughs loudly to attract the woman’s attention.

“Hey there!” she exclaims loudly, eyes twinkling as a smile appears on her face. “I didn’t hear you come in.” Butch starts to ask where a guy could get a drink around here, but she cuts him off, chattering excitedly about having another yet another visitor from Vault 101. Noelle really was here.

“Is she still here?” He tries to act nonchalant, but ends up sounding like a child about to receive a present. It makes him sick; he doesn’t even like Noelle. There’s no way he would have a crush on someone like Nosebleed. Great. Now he’s using the word ‘crush’ and ‘Nosebleed’ in the same sentence. Yuck.

“If you’re referring to Noelle, then yes. If you're seeking the other girl, well, I'm afraid I haven't seen her in years." Before Butch can ask her another question, she adds, "I cannot believe I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Moira Brown." She's...unlike anyone in the vault and Noelle was eccentric.

"Well, Miss Brown, is there any way I could reach her?"

"No one's ever called me that before. Moira is typically the—Wait. What were we talking about again? Oh! Noelle. Right. Sorry," she stammers, embarrassed. "She lives in the first house on the left, if you're just entering Megaton. I don't know if she's home, though."

Moira disappears behind the counter, reappearing seconds later with something in her hands. "If you see her, could you please give this to her? I know how much she loves comic books."

"Sure." She places the Grognak The Barbarian comic book into his waiting hands, warning him to be careful. He is _so_ going to tease her about this.

Butch withdraws himself from the shop to locate Noelle as Moira busies herself with cleaning up her counter space. Once outside her door, he finds himself paralyzed. His hands are shaking for the second time today but doesn't understand he's hesitating. It's not like she's a stranger; she's Nosebleed, the girl who shared her lunch with him when his mom had traded up his meal ticket for a bottle of vodka. As intimidating as a newborn baby. And yet he finds himself unable to face her.

He gathers up his courage and knocks once, twice, then waits.


	2. Somewhere Between 'Friends' and 'Acquaintances'

Unease builds in his stomach after each passing second. Doubts flood his mind faster than a pool on a summer day. Until now, it never occurred to him that Noelle’s reaction might be an unpleasant one; he had been so preoccupied with escaping that he had forgotten to think. What if she slammed the door in his face? A probable outcome, considering their relationship. It wasn't a guarantee she’d regard him with the same friendliness as before. Change happens quickly—it only took the Overseer a week to go insane.

When the door opens and Noelle emerges, all Butch can do is stare. Because the young woman standing in front of him _cannot_ be her. There’s a dullness in her eyes that’s never existed before, like they forgot how to sparkle. Her hair no longer reaches the middle of her back; instead, it hangs just below her chin, framing her face. But the blood on her clothes is the biggest shock. She patched up people; she wouldn’t hurt them.

“Butch?” She calls out his name softly, like the word is glass that would shatter if it’s spoken too harshly. Her brows furrow, creating tiny wrinkles in her forehead. Same look she’d get when solving a complex problem. Not that stared at her in class or anything.

“Hey Noelle.” For once, he doesn’t call her ‘Nosebleed’ or ‘Poindexter’. It’s his way of apologizing, of starting a new beginning. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed seeing—no, teasing—her until she was gone. Noelle’s expression deepens.

“What are you doing here?” Silence. ‘I left the vault’ is too vague and ‘I don’t know’ is too simple, so Butch stays quiet. Noelle searches his face for answers to no avail, then tries a different approach, “Why are you here?”

“The vault hasn’t been the same since you left.” There’s a deeper meaning behind those words, one that Noelle is oblivious to; she’s more concerned more with what happened after her disappearance. “It’s a long story,” he adds after she asks him to elaborate.

“I’ve got time,” Noelle assures him. 

It’s apparent he's not leaving until she knows what happened, which is why Butch finds himself seated on a tattered couch inside her home, reliving the past month out loud. He recalls the Overseer's transformation (“And here I thought ol’ Alphonse couldn’t get any more strict!”), the difference between the rebels and traditionalists (“Can you believe Amata and I actually got along?”), and his escape (“Like taking candy away from a really old baby.”) Noelle watches him intently, flinching when she deems necessary—typically following the word ‘death’.

The number of times she apologizes for ‘ruining his life’ is definitely past five and not even a minute has passed since he finished talking. Despite his best efforts to convince her that she is not at fault, the ‘I’m sorry’s’ flow from her mouth like a holotape on repeat. A portion of him does resent her for the events that followed her abrupt departure—life in the vault was fine before she left—but if he should lay the blame on anyone, it would be James, her dad. Why he thought he should mention that, though, he didn’t know.

“Don’t get me started on my father.” She laughs, but there’s more venom in there than a Radscorpion sting. It’s strange, uncomfortable, seeing her like this. Noelle and James had always been damn near inseparable. At ten years old, little Noelle could most likely be found in her dad’s clinic, if she wasn’t nose-deep in a book or hanging out with Amata. At sixteen, she all but lived in the clinic. It was the parent-child relationship he’d always envied. To see it crumble felt wrong. Something like that should’ve been able to withstand atomic bombs.

Sensing Noelle has withdrawn into memories, Butch takes the time to survey her home. A small bookcase stands in the corner of the living room, filled with books of various genres. They're in relatively good condition, or in as good of a condition as a 200-year-old book can be. Assortments of weapons—pistols, shotguns, rifles, all things non-Noelle—occupy the lockers to his left. In the kitchen, there are shelves stocked with nonperishable food, almost identical to those served in the cafeteria. The robot butler, whom she’d introduced as ‘Wadsworth’ floats around the house, dusting. Butch can’t see the upstairs, but figures that’s where she sleeps.

“I wasn't expecting company, otherwise I would have tidied up the place,” Noelle says, noticing his wandering eyes. He chuckles—her house is far from messy. Heck, it’s cleaner than his room in the vault. “Would’ve made tea, too.”

“That stuff still exists?” She nods. “Humanity is saved.” The sarcastic comment earns him a smile from Noelle.

“It’s not that bad…”

“You’re right. It’s downright _awful_. If I was meant to eat leaves, I’d be a herbivore.”

“Excellent use of a vocabulary word. Too bad your tasteless opinion ruined it.”

“Yeah, but it’s not as tasteless as your tea.” An eyeroll from Noelle.

“Good one,” she laughs and even though she doesn’t say it, he knows she’s given him a second—or third or fourth—chance. One that he probably doesn’t deserve, but it’s what he wanted.

“I don’t know about you, but I could go for some food.” Butch nods in agreement and Noelle enters the kitchen, then walks upstairs, returning moments later with two boxes of Salisbury steak and two bottles of Nuka-Cola. “It might not taste the greatest, but it’s better than starving.”

It’s awful, absolutely awful, yet he manages to keep the food from coming back up. Years of radiation had not been kind to this once microwaveable dinner. Vault 81 was beginning to look more appealing than ever before. Not that he would go back, even if he could. A stream of loud giggles interrupts his thoughts and he looks over to see Noelle holding her hand over her mouth.

“You look like someone who just watched somebody else eat their own poop,” Noelle explains, words muffled. For as many books as she’s read, he would have figured she’d have a better simile than the one she just made. He’d also expected her to be more mature. “No offense.”

“Remember that one time Mr. Brotch thought it would be a good idea to let us cook? Well, this is worse than that.”

“You get used to it, eventually.” That makes him shudder. 

The two teens finish their meals without another word, but the silence is a comfortable one. Butch allows his mind to wander—albeit briefly—to his old home. He wonders how is mom is doing, if she even cares that her son is gone. Highly unlikely, he decides bitterly. They hadn’t talked much since Noelle and James vacated the vault, and even before then, their conversations weren’t the kind that a mother and son should have. Hopefully Freddie is alright. And Amata. Funny how the few people he’d never liked would end up becoming close.

“What’d you do with the bottlecap on your Cola?” Noelle asks, pulling him back to Earth. A puzzled glance her way causes her to elaborate, “That’s the new currency in this post-apocalyptic world. You use bottlecaps to buy things, not U.S. dollars.”

How strange. “Why?”

“Ease of access. Due to the surplus of Nuka-Cola and other beverages that remained after the war, people were able to stockpile a fair amount. Ingenious, isn't it?”

“Until we run out,” Butch adds cynically.

“A new monetary system will be implemented. Or maybe we'll resort to trading, like the Pilgrims. Who knows?” She shrugs to emphasize her uncertainty. An unnecessary gesture; Noelle is usually correct when she uses complex words.

“It’s getting late,” she points out. A yawn escapes her mouth, as if in agreement. “I’m gonna head upstairs to get some sleep. Feel free to stay up as late as you want, but don't forget to turn the lights off.”

“Wait...What? You’re lettin’ me sleep here?” He must’ve misunderstood. Why would she do that?

“Yeah. Duh. You obviously don't have any caps, so where else are you gonna sleep? I mean, there’s always the Common House but that place is pretty dirty.”

“Oh,” he pauses, shocked by her kind gesture. How could she be so selfless after everything he had done? “Thanks, I guess.” His attempt at nonchalance is cringe worthy, but either Noelle doesn't mind or she chooses to ignore it. 

She heads upstairs, the door clicking shut behind her. A wave of exhaustion washes over Butch; his adrenaline is fading quickly. He shuts off the lamps after removing his shoes. The couch he lies on isn’t long enough, so his legs hang over the edge, but damn if he’s complaining. When he closes his eyes, he can almost pretend he’s back in the vault, in his own bed. But he pushes the thought out of his head, instead focusing on what tomorrow may bring. No sense in living the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh!! It's been way too long since I last updated and I apologize profusely for that. Moving took up all of my time but I'm done now! And thank you to everyone for the comments and kudos. It really encourages me to keep writing!
> 
> Also, I hope Butch isn't too out-of-character. I like to think that he matured in some areas but not all.

**Author's Note:**

> I just really love Butch DeLoria!
> 
> Feedback is greatly appreciated!


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